


Courting the Sentinel

by tinyfierce



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Bog Unicorn, Dalish, Elvish, F/M, Flower Crowns, Fluff and Smut, Humor, Kissing in the Rain, Romance, Shameless Smut, Smut, prompts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-03-25 21:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3825310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfierce/pseuds/tinyfierce
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Filled Abelavellan tumblr prompts, collected here. This has been ridiculously fun. </p><p>Will add more if they come!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Cloak

**[penthesilea1623](penthesilea1623.tumblr.com) asked:**  Abelas having to deal with the cold at Skyhold after centuries of living in the semi-tropical Temple of Mythal and Lavellan helping him in some way (down comforters? hot cocoa?)

* * *

Tunics.

  
Light leathers, single-layer overshirts, and basic uniforms – that was what everyone in Skyhold walked around in, exposing themselves to the mountain air. Abelas typically left his armor on its stand in his room, and it wouldn't have granted him much warmth, but at least it had gloves and would have allowed him a bit of protection.

He frowned a bit as he descended the stairs into the courtyard, the walls providing some relief from the winds. The sun was weaker here, however, and he found himself unconsciously avoiding the shadows. It wasn't _cold_ , necessarily – the fortress' magics saw to that – but still a good deal cooler than the humid southern wilds in which he had spent his servitude.

The Qunari didn't even wear a shirt. The thought was mind-boggling.

“Abelas!”

He turned at the sound of his name, adjusting his posture as the Inquisitor crossed the grassy yard. She too was without cloak or gloves, though he had since learned that her clan frequented the cooler, more temperate forests of the Free Marches.

“Dagna was asking after you,” she informed him, stretching with a smile. “She said she wants to take a look at your armor, if you don't mind - something technical that she simplified as 'shiny, then glowy, then _bam_!'”  
  
He acknowledged her with a nod, familiar with the dwarf's particular brand of curiosity. “I will see to it this afternoon.”

“ _Ma serannas_. She'll be thrilled.”

A passing breeze ducked under his hood and brushed cool against the shorn areas of his scalp, and despite steeling himself against it, he shivered lightly.

Eve stepped closer, ducking her head a bit to better assess him. “Abelas,” she asked, “are you cold?”

Before he could answer, her hands were pressed to his cheeks, insistently checking his temperature. He made no protest; as much as he hated to admit it, the borrowed warmth was appreciated. As was the skinship, he mused as her eyes traveled his face. She communicated much with her touch, her hands – and his experimental attempts to respond in kind had been well-received.

“I will soon adjust,” he reassured her, though her expression remained unconvinced.

“You should have said something earlier,” she scolded, and he waited patiently as she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. After a moment, she turned, indicating he should follow.  
  
“I have just the thing, this way.”

He did so, ascending the stone steps into the keep proper. As the main doors closed behind them, the heat of the massive hearth greeted him, and he could feel his stiff muscles relax at the much-needed change. They crossed the main hall, and though he was enjoying the fire, a cold knot formed in his chest as Eve's hand reached for the door to her chambers.

How, exactly, did she intend on keeping him warm?

His pulse quickened as they traveled the stairs, thumb running back and forth across his fingertips. He wouldn't deny that the thought had occurred to him, though never as anything more than an idle thought, and never by design. Her touch was a means of expression, not promise nor intent – and yet the more honest parts of him woke at every brush of her skin.

She tugged a shallow trunk out from beneath her bed, kneeling to unhook the latches and searching among the folded cloth for something.

“I know I have it in here,” she swore. “I haven't – ah!” Triumphantly, she stood and shook out a silvery gray cloak. “Here, let me.”

Abelas leaned slightly to accommodate as the Inquisitor draped the garment around his shoulders. An ornately carved toggle held it shut at the collar, and slits on either side allowed for the use of his arms. It fell to just above his knees, and the difference in warmth was immediate.

“Dalish wool,” Eve said proudly as he admired the craftsmanship. “Half the weight, twice the insulation. It's not warm enough for places like Emprise du Lion, and I haven't needed it here for a long time.”

There was no seaming, he noted as he took a closer look. “The method is impeccable,” he observed, earning a warm smile from Eve, who clasped her hands behind her back.

“My cousin is one of our best craftsmen,” she said. “He gave it to me as I left for the conclave.” Her smile shifted, losing its brightness and taking on a wistful cast. “I think he might have known that I wasn't coming back.”

Abelas hesitated. The significance of the cloak was clear, as was her attachment to it. “It is a memento of your people,” he began, reaching for the clasp. “I cannot– ”

She interrupted him with a hand over his. “No,” she insisted. “I want you to use it. And when you've gotten used to this place, then give it back and we can put it away.”

He stilled, studying the earnest expression on her face.

“As you have done before.”

“Yes,” she said. “As I have done before.”

The cloak had served more than one purpose, it seemed, and had been integral to her acclimation to her new life. She was offering it to him, hoping it would do the same – and he did not miss the meaning behind the gesture.

He lowered his hand, and hers came with it.

“ _Ma serannas,_ ” he replied, feeling the gentle squeeze of her fingers around his.


	2. Caught in the Rain

**anonymous asked** : Abelavellan, caught in the rain.

* * *

“In here!”

Laughing, Eve pulled Abelas after her to the shelter of an overhang. A sudden downpour had taken them by surprise, interrupting their tracking practice and drenching them both.

Eve leaned over to ruffle out her hair, smiling. She had missed days like these; journeying with the Inquisition was vastly different from traveling with her clan. Memories of her youth spent running wild through the woods and being caught in such storms were treasured, the sound of the heavy falls on the moss and logs the music of her adolescence.

“It's best to wait it out,” she said as she straightened. “My clan used to travel extensively through the Free Marches – these showers are heavy, which means it should last less than an hour.”

Abelas nodded, staring out into their surroundings. It had been midday, and the white-grey skies and torrential rain beautifully enriched the colors of the mosses and red bark. “I am accustomed to such weather,” he said. “The jungles were much the same.”

He had lowered his hood, and Eve took in the sight of him, gleaming mist on his skin and armor giving him an illusory shimmer in the light. He was faintly olive-toned, unlike her, and the green lines of his _vallaslin_ traced striking patterns against it. She admired him often, though admittedly, the pull to do so was far stronger as of late.

He caught her staring, turning to her with interest. “What?”

She smiled, motioning to the but-for-the-grace-of-that-hood dry braid and the shorn sides of his head. “You're lucky,” she told him. “My hair was wet before I could blink, and I've soaked my gloves trying to dry it.” She held up her hands to demonstrate, dampness spreading into the embroidery.

She watched as he considered them for a moment before closing the distance between their positions, catching her wrists before she could lower them. He shed his own gloves silently, one at a time so as not to release her. One of her hands he guided to rest against his chest, setting to work on the other as he held it gently in place.

With long, nimble fingers, he sought out the seam at the edge of her left hand, tugging it up to mid-palm and revealing mere inches of skin beneath. One by one, he gently pinched the leather at her fingertips and pulled each free – pinky, ring, middle, index, thumb. Each movement, each pull was slow and deliberate and inexplicably intimate.

It was no effort, then, to slide the glove free and drape it over an exposed root jutting out from the rocky wall beside them. Eve gently bit at her long-suffering lower lip and followed his motions with her eyes as he set to the second hand.

The creeping vines hanging off the edge of the outcropping formed a living curtain, shuddering as water coursed down from leaf to leaf and dripped into the pools below. It flickered in Eve's peripheral vision, making the limited space under the rock face seem that much smaller as her right hand was identically and tenderly freed from its sodden confinement.

The second glove joined its mate on the root, and looking down at her bare skin, she couldn't remember the last time she had felt so exposed.

Before she could thank him – or protest, or whatever it was her mouth was incapable of doing – he bent slightly at the waist, plait falling over one shoulder as he pressed his lips to her palm. Warmth blossomed in the valley his mouth had settled into and spread to her fingertips, as well as lighting up something in her core that raised her other hand unbidden.

She had kissed him the day before in a heated moment, with no warning or preamble. It was Abelas' turn, now, and he also declined to take the path of warning – this was him asking permission, and the soft noise in her throat was Eve giving it.

His fingers threaded into her hair as he laid claim to her mouth, one arm round her waist to pull and _lift_ ever so slightly, the motion carrying into her chin as she raised it to meet him. Her now-bare hands settled at the collar of his breastplate, fingertips seeking out the uncovered skin at the base of his throat and running along the polished metal. The way he touched her with respect, kissed her with an unspoken etiquette – thousands of years had made no difference in this particular style of communicating affection.

And yet for all that he observed such decorum, Eve mused as she parted her lips and yielded to his advances, they were no one here. Without another living soul around, she was not the Inquisitor, and he was not a wayward sentinel, and they could dispense with such formalities.

Her hands found his ears and they were lost to the world, Abelas' sigh of surrender drowned in the deluge.


	3. Flower Crowns

**[maybethings](maybethings.tumblr.com) asked:**  The inevitable prompt of "flower crowns".

* * *

Wide clouds drifted lazily in the lower sky, casting shadows on the slopes and fields of the valley below.

Abelas sat in the fields some ways up from the riverbank camp, enjoying the filtered sun amidst the wildflowers and grasses. The clan was busily preparing for the evening's victory festivities, and if you weren't doing something specific, you were in the way. He had offered to help, but had been politely turned away; it was a point of Dalish culture that guests were not meant to to take part in the clan's work, especially for celebrations.

The odd sensations he experienced at being othered by the clan were surprising, especially considering the fact that he had never sought inclusion. At least they spoke to him in their own tongue, and his connection to Eve allowed him into a more intimate circle, if not the same one she occupied.

Still, he had no intention of being a hindrance, and the day's interactions had left him much to consider.

He had only just lowered his hood to better appreciate the sun's warmth when the approach of a familiar voice reached his ears. He recognized the cadence of her footsteps, and remained in place as he waited for her to join him.

It wasn't long before Eve came into view, short white-blonde hair catching and curling around her cheeks in the breeze. As she climbed the hill to him further, however, it became apparent that she was not alone. A child clutched at her hand, dark hair bound up in braids and face unmarked by _vallaslin._

“We stole away for a moment to come visit,” the Inquisitor greeted, though the girl behind her stayed a few paces back, staring at Abelas with wide, bright eyes. “Da'hel had something she wanted to give you.”

“I see.”

Abelas watched with interest as Eve turned to her charge, murmuring encouragements in Elvish and gently running her fingers through her hair.

“ _Ma'garas._ Don't be shy, now. You insisted I bring you up here.”

Da'hel, who barely reached Eve's ribs in height, tugged at her hand nervously and beckoned her down, whispering in her ear. Eve listened, smiling.

“Yes, that's right. Now _go._ ”

The child turned to face him, determination etched into her features as she reached behind her and produced a wreath of freesia and lavender sprays, undoubtedly fashioned with the help of an adult or someone far more dextrous.

“ _Ma melava halani_ ,” she said slowly, the rehearsed syllables tumbling from her untrained tongue. “ _Ar lasa mala vir'alas._ ”

'You helped us. You are now our dirt.'

“ _Falon,_ ” Eve corrected with a smirk.

“ _Vir'falon,”_ She held out the wreath, small hands disappearing into the thick leafage.

'Our friend.'

It occurred to him that she meant to place it on his head, and leaned forward obligingly. As he felt her clumsily settle the blossoms around his crown, a strange tightness formed in his chest - it was a simple gesture, and her speech unskilled, but the effort to recognize him was something that struck at something deep within.

When he straightened, the child beamed at him with an open brightness that was genuinely disarming. A trail of giggles followed her as she turned and fled, calling for Eve in a mix of languages marred by the excitement of her success.

Eve watched her go with a sigh, pulling her hair from her face. “I suppose it's Bull's turn now. But it won't be nearly as much of a production as this.” She crossed her arms as she stared down at him, making no effort to disguise the amusement on her face. “You got the biggest one, you know. And she practiced those two sentences all morning. That, from a girl who _hates_ studying Elvish.”

She seemed pleased, and he was no less affected by the exchange.

“I will consider it an honor, then.” He adjusted the adornment, and Eve stifled a laugh behind her fingers.

“It suits you,” she managed. “Really, it does.” She braced her hands on her knees and leaned down, mindful of the flowers as she pressed a chaste kiss to his mouth. “Thank you for humoring her.”

“It was no trouble,” he said, and meant it.


	4. Distraction

**anonymous asked:**  Abelas convinces the Inquisitor to put down her work for some sexytime? =P  
  
 **Edit:** NSFW. I used this as practice to flex my smut-writing skills, so enjoy!

* * *

The table. This was where she lived, now.

Eve grimaced, massaging her wrist as she leaned back against the sofa. She'd been writing for hours – a supper tray had been brought up, but only picked at as she worked. Thank the Creators for the fireplace, at least. Sitting on the floor across from it was as close to pleasant as she could get, a cushion stuffed between her back and the sofa to fix her posture.

The wood of the stairs creaked in a familiar rhythm; Abelas didn't always have audible footsteps, but he was being courteous tonight.

“You yet work.”

She turned to smile – or as close to it as she could manage – up at him. “If I had to guess, I'd say I'm barely half done.”

He sat on the sofa, lowering his hood as he glanced at the scattered parchment. Ink glimmered off of the latest one, still wet as she moved on.

“I see Elvish,” he observed. “I assume that you are writing to your Keeper.”

“First, actually.” She ran a hand through her hair to pull it back from her face. “Since the events at Wycome, the clan has been growing and the Keeper has her hands full. So the new First has been writing to me for advice, fairly often. And a good thing, too – he's really in for it this time.”

“You do not believe him capable of taking up your position?”

“No, it's not that.” She produced his original letter, handing it over for inspection. “He only took over about a year ago – when we knew for sure that I couldn't come back – and so his training as First is still in its early stages. His magic is strong and he's very dedicated, but...” With a tapping finger, she indicated the relevant passage. “A pair of twins in the clan just manifested the Gift at the same time. One is terrified and refuses to train, one is overeager and throwing magic everywhere.” She sighed. “It's unfortunate that _this_ is what he has to cut his teeth on.”

Abelas leaned forward, replacing the letter on the table. “I understand.” He turned to face her, glancing at her sore wrist. “Yet you have been writing for nearly half a day. You will injure yourself, and you have not eaten properly.”

“I ate. And I need to finish this.”

“The messengers will not be dispatched until the day after tomorrow. You have ample time to recover before returning to it.”

“But– ”  
  
Her protests went ignored as he stood, taking her inkwell with him. He crossed the room to deposit it on her desk before returning to pull the table out of reach, deaf to her arguments.

“...and then let it dry before I seal it, which could take up to an hour!”  
  
“Time that you have.”

Even without her supplies and even writing surface, Eve was resolute. “I'm not moving from this spot,” she informed him. To demonstrate, she stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles, hands folded prettily in her lap. And dared him to try something.

To her surprise, he chuckled and trapped her thighs with his feet, planting them snugly on either side of her legs. He folded his arms over his chest as he stared her down, his smirk clear even in the low light.

“And here I thought to entice you with more pleasurable activities.”

A searing tightness gripped Eve's throat as she tried to maintain her glare in the face of _that_. The fact that he'd said something so bold had set her blood rushing, but words were just words, and he wasn't -

In her silence, he'd begun undoing the fastenings on his leathers.

Her mouth ran dry as nimble fingers unhooked, tugged, and slid things out of place, wordlessly depositing everything above the waist in a chiming, rustling pile on the rug beside her. Those same fingers hovered just below his navel, one thumb resting on the waist of his leggings as he inclined his head slightly, waiting.

_Creators_ , she swore. This wasn't fair.

“All right,” she conceded, albeit petulantly. “Get down here.”

He lifted his chin. “The bed is behind you.”

“I told you, I'm not moving,” she insisted. “And the mighty Inquisitor is infallible.” She plucked at the fabric covering his thighs, and he smirked.

“As you wish.”

He gracefully lowered himself onto his knees, still holding her thighs captive between his legs. She made no attempt to free herself, and instead simply reached up to pull his face to hers. He leaned in obligingly, bracing his hands on the seat cushions behind her as he bent to catch her mouth. She was hungry from the start; her tongue found its way to his in moments, hands sliding from his chest to neck to ears in their quest for sensitive flesh.

The moan that rumbled through him at her touch sent a jolt of heat down her spine, and she gently bit at his lower lip, tugging at it before diving back into his clever mouth. She was without him only for a moment as he sat back, pinning her knees in place beneath that perfect backside. His hands gripped at her nape, her jaw, stroking and angling her head as his lips and tongue explored the skin of her throat.

She couldn't form a single coherent thought. All she managed was the glimpse of dark ink on her fingers as they darted through the white hair of Abelas' scalp, weaving desperate paths as she gasped and writhed. A firm nip on the delicate outer shell of her ear arched her back, and she choked back a sob with her face half-buried in the upholstery beside her.

The broad softness of his tongue took the place of his teeth, soothing and teasing as the hand not holding her in place reached back to the furniture, using it to push himself back upright. He was above her again, braid falling over his shoulder as he bent to reclaim her mouth. She met him with enthusiasm, her eager hands seeking out the outline of his cock through fabric.

He groaned against her, and she shuddered. He was already hard and _Creators,_ was it perfection. She squeezed roughly, working the length of him as he ground urgently into her palm. She didn't have much of a grip – their positions and clothes were a maddening hindrance – but it was enough to elicit some of the most beautifully gutteral noises from his throat, humming through the air and vibrating in her chest. 

For all Eve's bravado earlier, she wouldn't hold out much longer. The heat pooling between her legs was almost painfully demanding, and she squirmed in place, desperate for any sort of friction. He gave her not an inch of freedom, and if that didn't change soon, she wasn't responsible for her own actions.

“Abelas,” she managed, turning her head and exposing her neck again. “You're _killing_ me, here.” She attempted to move her thighs to demonstrate, the firm restraint only producing a frustrated whine.

He chuckled, breath warm against the underside of her jaw. “I am similarly impatient.” He spread his legs further, granting her a slight freedom that brought a rush of endorphins.

“Turn,” he instructed, and a tightness took hold of her stomach.

_Turn_ , that meant,  _and bend over._

She complied, presenting her backside to him as she knelt at the sofa's edge and pressed her breasts into the seating. Cushions disappeared from her peripheral vision as he moved them to considerate placement below her knees, and she settled her palms flat on either side of her as she waited obediently.

Her breath hitched when his hands slid up her thighs, over the fullness of her hips and pushed her tunic into a bunched mess at her waist. Cool air met her skin as her leggings were slowly peeled and shimmied down, removed and tossed aside with a  _flop_ barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears.

One hand settled firmly on her lower back, holding her down with gentle pressure as the other hand slid over her shoulder and tapped at her lips. For a moment, the skin of his stomach was hot against her back, and she felt her throat and cheeks burn as she took two fingers into her mouth. She realized with a start that he was very cleverly starting to figure out some of her proclivities without her having said a word on that particular subject, and it seemed he had no objections to indulging – perhaps even enjoying – them.

When satisfied, he withdrew his hand and ran slick fingertips in long, even strokes between her legs before inserting one, then both in slow thrusts. Eve keened, curling her hands into fists and resisting the urge to buck against him. He didn't need to do this; she was soaking wet and doing everything she could with her body to beg him to  _just fuck her_ . His consideration would have been gentlemanly in any other circumstance, if her desire to submit hadn't already been fiercely warring with her need to come.

When his hand left her and she felt the telltale rustle of fabric, she let out a long exhale and willed her body to relax. He nudged her knees apart with his, positioning himself with one hand on her hip and tip brushing against her.

He sank in slowly, and Eve let out a low groan into the cushions. Oh, she wasn't going to last long. She never did in this position, never mind after getting so worked up – but  _damn_ , was this going to feel good.

His palms came to rest at her waist, and he withdrew at the same pace he entered, only to thrust back in firmly.

“Harder,” she choked out, “ _please._ ”  
  
She didn't need to tell him twice.

She braced her hands against the back of the sofa as he approached full-tilt, whimpering as her breasts chafed deliciously against the cushions and his grip on her tightened. She didn't know what language she was muttering in – not that it mattered – but the feeling of his hips snapping against hers and sending shockwaves up through her belly was deliriously gratifying. And when she started getting close, tightening around him, she felt the tremble in his fingertips like an earthquake.

She came apart just before he did, riding it out with her cries drowned in rich Orlesian embroidery. His final few thrusts coasted through her climax and ended with him buried in her to the hilt, moaning deeply as the end of his braid brushed against her spine and he was spent.

The moments they remained in that position were decidedly pleasant, and Eve smiled drowsily.

“You should distract me more often.”

There was a warmth in his voice as he gently stroked her back and withdrew. “I look forward to doing so, _lethallan_.”

The minimal amount of cleaning and redressing was all that the Inquisitor could manage in her exhaustion, and she collapsed onto that same sofa as soon as she deemed herself decent. Abelas tended to the fire, adding wood before pulling the throw blanket from her bed and draping it over her slender frame. After fetching a book, he joined her on the sofa, graciously allowing her to wriggle her feet onto his lap as he cracked it open.

“Don't let me sleep too long,” she insisted. “I swore I wouldn't move until it was finished.”

He said nothing, but Eve caught a glimpse of a smile in those gold eyes before drifting off into blissful slumber.

 


	5. Are you jealous?

**artfulusername asked:**  Number 5, "Wait a minute. Are you jealous?" - Abelas and Eve

* * *

"...and then left at the next bend."

As Abelas approached, Eve stood by Dennet's working desk to look over a sketch. She turned at the sound of his footsteps, however, smiling broadly.

"Abelas," she greeted. "Good timing – Dennet's daughter set up a training course around the outer grounds during her visit. I was about to see if you or any of the others wanted to give it a try."

He joined her by the hastily-drawn map, noting the setup of torches and flags to mark the way. There were turns, hurdles, and even a diversion to practice crossing water among the charted obstacles. Well-designed, he mused, and excellent riding practice.

"It seems a fine course," he agreed. "I would appreciate the exercise."

"Good!" She waved to one of the stablehands, signaling for him to fetch her mount. Hiring them had been Cullen's idea, having been the one to fetch most of the odd menagerie that Eve was steadily accruing.

To his surprise, however, the human teenager apprenticed to Dennet wasn't bringing over Eve's usual Hart – he was leading the Bog Unicorn.

His stomach tightened a bit as it came closer, sunken features and gumless smile fixed straight ahead. The sight of the thing always gave him chills, no matter how much he might try to steel himself against the gruesome visual.

" _Aneth ara_ , Butterscotch," she murmured with a smile as she took the reins and patted him on the nasal bone protrusion.

"The Bog Unicorn," Abelas said slowly, "not the Royal Hart?"

"Dennet said that I should make an effort to expand my riding abilities," she said, scratching where it once may have had an ear. "So I thought I'd take out something different. Butterscotch is one of the mounts I haven't had much experience with."

"I see."

He did his best to school his features as the creature turned its lyrium-red eyes to him, the scraping sound of its ribs expanding and contracting with every breath setting an eerie rhythm. It was only after a moment that he felt Eve's stare, and as he turned, a light came to her eyes.

"Wait a minute," she asked, "are you jealous?"

Frowning, he crossed his arms. "I don't understand your meaning."

"I  _completely_  forgot! You have a special connection with Butterscotch, don't you?"

Dread knotted in his stomach as he realized that she had wholly misinterpreted his silence. He was about to protest, when – as if on cue – Butterscotch let out a chilling whinny and tugged at his reins, eager to reach him.

"Of course you can take him out first," Eve hurriedly reassured him, pressing the reins into his hands. "He probably got all excited, thinking you were the one he was coming out to."

"But," Abelas began quickly, "you have the prior claim–"

"Don't worry about it." She smiled, pulling down the tack for one of the dracolisks and waving the stablehand back over. "I was going to ride the Abyssal next, anyway."

As they began to get the dragonlike mount ready, Abelas stood back, reins in hand. Light glinted off of a tiny non-corroded sliver in the sword thrust through the Bog Unicorn's face, and Abelas hesitantly patted it on the neck.

"Let us both do our best, then."

Butterscotch shrieked happily.


	6. Can't do it without you

**resoan asked** : For the writing prompts... How about Eve+Abelas for #20, and/or Eve+Solas for #41? :3 (Sorry if this sends twice - my internet was acting up _)

Here's part 1! 20. "You need to wake up because I can't do this without you."

* * *

 Abelas walked slowly through the massive garden, allowing his feet to decide which of the stone-lined paths to follow.

Flowers of all shapes and sizes and colors – the likes of which he suspected hadn't been seen in the waking world for centuries – beamed out at him from the thick foliage. Their placement and cultivation seemed deliberate, but there was a wildness about them that took away any artificial appearances.

He passed a lotus-spotted pond, catching a glimpse of his reflection on its surface. How long had he been here? He felt no spirit binding him, no spell – and though he knew it was the Fade, he felt no sense of urgency or question. There were worse places to wander, he supposed, and he had not felt so at peace in a long time.

He walked through an arbor of trumpet vines, emerging into a circular clearing flush with plate-sized lilies. On a bench in its center, bathed in their bright colors, sat Eve.

"Abelas," she called, smiling. "There you are."

He sat beside her, surveying their surroundings. "Where are we?"

She stretched her neck a bit, but settled back down after a quick glance left and right. "I have a strong suspicion that this used to be Skyhold – or part of it, under owners long since gone. I haven't been here nearly as long as you have, though."

He frowned. "Time has no relevance here. How long have I been asleep?"

"Not exactly asleep." Eve leaned forward and rested her elbows atop her knees. "You're still out cold from the nasty hit that Horror landed on you. We managed to get you back and patched up, but it's been a few days and everyone's getting nervous." She folded her hands, staring down at her fingers. " _I've_  been getting nervous."

He studied her expression, noting the worry edging at her features. "And so you came searching."

"Going into the Fade was my idea." She snickered. "Sera offered to try and wake you up with another blow to the head, but I think she was only half-serious."

"For which I am thankful."

With a laugh, Eve turned her gaze to one of the magnificent blossoms beside them. "Cole said that you were still in Skyhold, though he couldn't tell when or where. I asked a few friends for help, and though it took a while, here you are."

He murmured an agreement, but still couldn't pull his gaze from her. It might have been the Fade, but he could have sworn...

"Something troubles you."

She lifted her head, biting her lower lip, and the familiar sight tugged at his chest.

"I've been exhausted," she replied. "It takes a lot out of me."

"On my account," he said, "for which I apologize."

"No, you have nothing to be sorry for. It's just..." She smiled at him wearily, chin in hand. "I think I've realized how much I've begun to rely on you. Enough that not having you around makes things a little bit rougher."

He let her words settle in, hesitating only a moment before reaching for her. "Eva'nahn - "

She stood, hand in his, and turned to look down at him. "This place is beautiful," she said, "and Creators know that I could stay here forever, but..."

Abelas felt the warmth of her lips as they planted a kiss on his brow.

"You need to wake up, because apparently I can't do this without you."

He felt a tightness as she squeezed his hand...

…and suddenly, the world around them fell from sight.

When Abelas opened his eyes, it was to the ceiling of the healers' center, and the tightness in his hand was still present. He craned his neck, stiff and sore, to see Eve's fingers intertwined with his as she lay beside him.

Though his limbs were heavy, he rolled to his side and laid a palm on her cheek, tapping lightly to wake her. Slowly, olive-green eyes greeted him, and she smiled drowsily.

"Welcome back, Abelas."

"The same to you."

She sighed as she stretched, her breath warm on his face. "I'm surprised you came back so quickly. You sure you didn't want to stay in the garden a bit longer?"

"There was much to admire," he admitted, "but I recall being told that I was sorely needed."

Eve snickered, pressing her face into the blanket.

"That was the Fade. Don't get conceited."


	7. In Case of Accident

**artfulusername said:**  Abelas and Lavellan - 20

"20. Talking about having kids" from [this meme](http://tinyfierce.tumblr.com/post/128018270486/cuddle-up-a-little-closer-a-domesticityintimacy).

* * *

 

Eve pulled a warm robe about her shoulders, letting her legs dangle over the side of the bed for a moment before tentatively settling them on the cool floor. Abelas watched her from his position sitting against the headboard, pulse only just returned to normal after their impromptu tumble. He made it a point to stop by Skyhold whenever he passed the area; though their meetings in the Fade were not infrequent, the real touch of her skin and warm company were among his most treasured luxuries.

She pulled the kettle from the hearth, carefully pouring the steaming contents over a sachet of herbs. Cup in hand, she smiled at him through the steam and returned to the bed in order to tuck her feet into the coverlet.

"You are cold," he observed, and she shook her head as she let out her breath in soft puffs to dissipate the heat.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. "But if I don't drink this in a timely fashion, we'll have bigger problems than a chill."

As he took her meaning, Abelas settled his shoulders back. "I see."

She flashed him a wry smile, wincing at the first still-too-hot sip. "And neither of us wants that."

At her long exhale, the scent of anise began to surround them, and Abelas accommodated her foot beneath the blankets as it sought his.

–

"I wish to answer to a statement you made two mornings ago."

Eve stilled, turning to look at him. "I – what?"

Abelas folded his hands behind him. They were walking the parapets, catching one another up on the progress of their respective lives, and there were few who would hear them here.

"'Neither of us wants that,' you said. At the time, I thought that I agreed."

He watched as her expression shifted, morphing from confusion to surprise as she recalled the conversation to which he was referring.

"At the time," she repeated slowly. "Meaning that you disagree now?"

"I have given the matter a great deal of thought." He leaned against one of the stone walls and she followed suit, wearing her curiosity plainly on her face.

"I had not considered," he began, "that a child would result of our intimacy. And yet, as I pondered it, I found myself surprised by my own... interest." He turned to her,  _vallaslin_ -lined face shielded from the sun by a hood. "Though we lack the traditional circumstances, I fail to see the issue – aside from the standard."

Eve seemed equal parts amused and taken aback. "And the fact that the world is falling apart?"

"It is your position as Inquisitor that would grant the child a fortunate life." He gestured to the courtyards below, filled with the goings-on of castle living. "Where else would they have the opportunity to learn four, five languages in one place? To have masters of all arts and combat disciplines within reach? To be taught, sheltered, and loved – is that not what all parents wish for their offspring?"

"That may be so," she countered, "but what of you, Abelas? Your freedom. I have more than enough support to do things on my own, but you can't take the risk of getting attached to a baby and wanting to stay."

He crossed his arms, considering his next words carefully. "I see it not as a risk, but as an opportunity, a choice. I do not have a family, as you do, and I cannot deny the appeal of the thought of one." A breeze tugged at them in its path, pulling white strands of hair into Eve's face, and Abelas watched as she brushed them away, determined to hear him out. "When I was bound to service, such a situation was beyond my comprehension. Impossible, even. And yet now, I find myself faced with such."

He quieted, and Eve met his gaze, studying him intently.

" _Lethallin_ ," she asked, "are you telling me this because you want to have children with me?"

He had difficulty reading her expression, and wondered at her own opinions on the matter – if she had ever thought of children of her own, if she had thought of how to raise them, if, every time she drank that particular tea, she thought of he and herself as parents.

"No," he replied. "Not as an explicit goal. I- " After a moment, he came up off of the wall and laid a hand on her cheek in what he hoped was a reassurance. "I admire you greatly. I merely say that I would have no objection, should you allow me to be a part of the child's life."

A long breath escaped her lips, and she tilted her head to press a kiss into his palm. "All right, I'll accept that." She took hold of his hands, interlocking their fingers and letting them fall to resting. "As for me, I'm not ready for children. I might be someday, but not now. Still - it's good to know that you'd thought about it."

"If that day comes," he began, "and you are in want of a partner -"

She smiled, squeezing his hands.

"I know where to find you."


	8. Too Loud

**Anonymous asked:**  Are you still taking prompts? If so, number 13 for Abelas/Lavellan!

13\. too loud

* * *

 The crisp bite of the wind was a welcome sensation as it swept across the ramparts and ducked into his hood.

Abelas stood with hands clasped behind his back, staring out into the night sky as the raucous sounds of celebration poured out of every open window, every seam of the tavern behind him. They had just intercepted and completely dismantled one of the major red lyrium smuggling operations, and as he had been on the team responsible, he was among the others ambushed with enthusiastic congratulations upon their return to Skyhold. He could appreciate their excitement, but the amount to which they expressed it was only tolerable in small doses.

Familiar footsteps scaled the rampart steps, barely audible over the din, and only to sensitive ears.

"Found you," the Inquisitor greeted as she closed the distance. "Getting some air?"

"Yes."

She stretched, smiling at him and leaning against the stone. "Too much for you, eh? I suppose parties were a bit different in the old days. Not so many people crammed into one place."

"Gatherings were different," he agreed slowly, "in an infinite space."

She leaned back, resting her elbows on the tallest sections of wall and casting a glance at the tavern as a fresh burst of cheers rose up. "Our lives are a lot shorter," she explained. "I suppose that explains the drive we feel to do as much as we can in what time we're given. Every moment is more precious in comparison when you know the end is coming." She nodded in the direction of the party meaningfully. "Soldiers, especially, can see the end coming any day."

Abelas made a noise in his throat. "So it seems." He took stock of Eve in the dim light, a perfect exemplar of both fragility and strength. She was soldier, mortal, and  _marked_  all at once; her time was perhaps most limited of all. Yet here she was, away from what little relief might be granted her. "I need for nothing," he said pointedly. "You may return to your comrades."

"Maybe in a bit." A warm smile crossed her face, and the earnest expression he was granted tugged at something in his throat. "I'm where I want to be right now."

That caught him off-guard, and though he felt as though he should say something in response, none came.

"But," she continued with a glint in her eye, "I  _could_  steal some of Dorian's wine and be back in thirty seconds flat."

Abelas chuckled dryly. "I would not object."

She pushed off the wall and leapt down the stairs, and the brief time she was gone stretched on for what felt like ages. He lifted his chin, flexing his fingers within his gloves as the seconds dragged.

 _Ah,_  he thought to himself,  _I see._


	9. Empty

**Anonymous asked:**  17. Empty for Abelas/Lavellan?

* * *

"You asked to see me?"

Abelas turned at the sound of her voice. He hadn't been waiting long; the courtyard beside the stables was openly traveled and he did not want an audience for what he intended to do.

"Inquisitor," he greeted.

"Eve," she corrected, and he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

"Eve." He clasped his hands behind his back, straightening his posture. "After witnessing the last series of audiences and judgments, I have had much reflecting to do and the time in which to do it." He watched as she moved nearer to the large, sculpted stones that lay almost artfully scattered beside the lone tree. "In those brought before you for wrongdoing, you have demonstrated the ability to discern false, hollow platitudes from the true desire to make amends. You answer to each accordingly, and it is that sense of integrity to which I appeal now."

Eve said nothing and leaned back against one of the stones and studied him carefully. His hands tightened - almost painfully so - but he continued onward.

"At the Temple of Mythal, I - " Abelas hesitated. "I understand now that my behavior toward you was unwarranted. You have since proven yourself to be far above my initial assumptions, and even at our first meeting were nothing more than civil and curious. Any hostility and anger were my own."

The Inquisitor came up off of her rest, surprise clear in her expression. "Wait, _that's_  what this is about?  _Fenedhis_ , Abelas, you don't need to - "

"You would not leave such a thing unaddressed, were I any of the others under your command. I alone should not be exempt."

Eve exhaled slowly, and he waited patiently as she gathered her thoughts.

"You had every right to be angry," she said finally, running a hand through her white-blond hair. "Corypheus had just burned his way through, and we came barreling in after him."

"You performed the appropriate rites," he pointed out. "And assisted our sentinels when they were attacked."

"Still, that doesn't change the fact that we didn't belong there. And you weren't wrong when you pointed out my  _vallaslin._ " Her fingers twitched, and for a moment, he thought she would run them over her face. "I was raised Dalish, millennia after your time. I wouldn't have asked you to come here if I wasn't willing to learn – if you're willing to talk." She came closer, tips of her long ears emerging from a curtain of hair as she shifted. "There's no need to apologize, Abelas. Not to me."

He made a noise in his throat, considering her words for a few long moments. "Again, you prove to be not as I expected."

Eve laughed, catching her bottom lip between her teeth. "You keep saying that. Maybe it would be better to just start from scratch with the expectations." She offered her hand. "Everything settled?"

He took it, clasping her wrist firmly. "I am satisfied, if you are."

"Good. Now we have some work to do – Cassandra has a lead on some smugglers."

As she pulled away, the heel of her palm grazed his, bare skin against bare skin in a brief exchange of warmth. It caught him entirely by surprise; that one small point of contact shot a jolt through his arm and spread throughout his body until his heart and fingertips were  _humming_.

It was as she led the way that Abelas realized he had  _wanted_  to touch her, to be touched. For the first time in his long memory, he could remember actively desiring something, and it gently-yet-insistently edged at the hollowness that had been the basis of his existence.

He followed her, unsure of how he was meant to feel.


End file.
